Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing
by DarthRuinous
Summary: "You can take a narglatch out of the swamp, but you can't take the swamp out of the narglatch." That's what they say, anyway. AU What-If?
1. Attention

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 1

72 BBY

The first time he sees the boy, it takes his breath away.

The Youngling is thin and pale, with close-cropped ginger hair and ice-blue eyes that hardly blink as he stands before his opponent. Where the other youngling wears a light smirk of entertainment as though the bout is mere routine, his own angular face shows nothing but a fierce and empty hunger.

Jedi Knight Dooku has never taken much interest in the early training of the padawans, especially in the years after Qui-Gon… he shakes the dark thoughts away, but he pauses in spite of himself to watch. Something in that expression calls to him, a hunger that he has also known and embraced.

Hunger to excel.

To lead.

To win.

The larger youngling moves in fast, intending to swipe the smaller target's legs out from under him. But the Youngling is no longer there, moving with preternatural speed over the sweeping appendage, wrapping wiry arms around the other's neck and sending him to the floor in less time than it takes Dooku to draw a breath.

The sparring master bestows a stern warning to the Youngling. He should know better than to use such a potentially dangerous maneuver on another student. The boy stands, head lowered slightly in deference, to all appearances chastened and contrite, but Dooku can see his eyes, and they are not humble.

They gleam with faint satisfaction, an emotion not easily recognized by most Jedi.

When the small group of students bow to their master and file from the room, Dooku approaches the older Jedi instructor and politely inquires about the Youngling.

"Sheev Palpatine," the master tells him, lifting his bisected, whiskered lips in faint disapproval. "He came to the Temple seven years ago, a son of some noble from some Mid-Rim planet, brought in almost too late to be trained. The boy has talent like I've not seen in decades, not since you, not since maybe ever, but talent isn't everything for a Jedi."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **In my Palpatine challenges collection, guest reviewer Maryna mentioned an AU scenario in which Palpatine is "discovered" by the Jedi. That set off a jumble of what-ifs in my head, and this experimental story occurred, as I don't often write in present tense. Enjoy, and leave a review if you wish! More should be coming soon, I dearly hope, if life maintains a semblance of normalcy.**


	2. Hooked

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 2

71 BBY

Whenever Dooku is on Coruscant, he makes a pointed effort to visit the classrooms in the Temple. He hints to the Jedi masters that he is thinking of taking another Padawan learner soon, and they accept his words with relief. Perhaps now he will move beyond the pain of Qui-Gon's passing. Perhaps now he can release his grief into the Force.

A lie, Dooku knows. Betrayal and grief: always these things will be with him. He is nothing like the other Jedi.

But now something new drives him onward. He obtains the records of the youngling's classes and is intrigued to find that the boy has signed up for nearly every available political theories and galactic history course, mentioning a modest interest in becoming a Jedi Consular someday. He has even obtained an internship with one of the Senators from Chandrila and spends several hours of every fifth day in the Senate Building. So much like himself, Dooku ponders. Having been one of the rare Jedi aware of his familial past, Dooku had always been drawn to the political field.

He knows that Palpatine had been brought to the Temple too early to easily understand his family's history, but he still wonders. After all, a nearly unnatural intelligence burns with frigid resolve in those searching eyes. He watches the boy debate his classmates, and his tongue proves as capable as his arm in a tough fight. The boy feints with precision, pulling a mask of geniality over his words until his victims are helpless, then ruthlessly cutting the throats of his opposition in a way that nearly makes them thank him.

Dooku studies the notes of his teachers. Exceptional academics, a keen mind, many questions. Some instructors admit being hard-pressed to keep the youngling sufficiently challenged. A few remark that he loses his place in the world from time to time, traveling far away in his thoughts. Dooku discovers that the boy admitted to visions early in his training, but little mention is made of them in the most current data. Either the dreams have tapered off, or the boy hides them.

He suspects the latter, and is impressed. Only an exceptional being can mask his experiences from a Jedi master, much less many.

Soon he will need to meet young Palpatine.

Before he makes his decision.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Don't do it, Dooku! You have no idea what he's capable of (and may I just say,** _ **Darth Plagueis**_ **has so many great lines…).**


	3. Introductions

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 3

71 BBY

The meeting is a happy accident, long before Dooku had planned it. Dooku has just returned from a mercy mission to Dantooine. A mishap with a territorial and bad-tempered graul has earned him a one-way trip back to Coruscant and the best Jedi healers in the Temple. He sits on the edge of the simple bed, feeling tenderly along the bacta-soaked bandages that wrap tightly around his ribs. They won't release him yet, telling him at least four more standard hours before he is well enough to leave.

A commotion sounds in the hallway, and soon two Jedi Knights enter, carrying a youngling between them, bone white edge of bone jutting though one of his shins.

The Youngling.

Palpatine's thin face is pinched with the agony of his wound, but his gaze settles on Dooku almost immediately as they place him in the adjacent bed and two Jedi healers try to make him comfortable, cooing over the poor unfortunate youngling.

Dooku finds himself arrested by the youngling's attention.

"You are Knight Dooku," Palpatine suddenly announces in the long silence that has built between them. His boldness does not surprise Dooku; somehow he has come to anticipate this straightforwardness, and it is refreshing when he is proven right.

"I am, and you are young Sheev Palpatine," Dooku smiles faintly. His chest twitches, and he ignores it.

"You know who I am." Somehow, the way Palpatine says it, Dooku knows it is not a question.

"I do," Dooku nods. "I've noticed you around the Temple on occasion."

"I'm honored, Master Dooku," and from anyone other than this boy, the older man would suspect empty flattery. However, Palpatine looks very pleased, thin mouth cracking in a fleeting smile, and his open respect in the Force creates a warm feeling in the Jedi Knight's mind. Of course he would be honored; it's not every day a talented knight like Dooku notices a youngling. This boy already knows how to recognize true ability. Dooku straightens on his bed, suddenly and faintly embarrassed to be caught so wounded, so weak. He decides on distraction.

"How did it happen, by the way?" Dooku inclines his head toward the grisly wound. The youngling appears barely aware of its existence.

"Does it really matter?" Palpatine tilts his own head in reply. "I'm here now, and so are you."

"So I am," Dooku mutters.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Who's scouting whom here?**


	4. Infatuation

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 4

70 BBY

He begins to spend time with the boy whenever he returns to Coruscant. They occasionally walk together across the great expanse of the Temple, and Dooku notes with no small surprise how little of the boy he can sense through the Force. Palpatine is like an iceberg from a frozen planet, only a small portion of himself above the murky waters, the rest inscrutable underneath. The Jedi Knight admires the natural strength of his shielding, though the masters certainly don't share his enthusiasm.

Dooku is captivated by the idea that this youngling could be a worthy challenge for him, a worthy successor and legacy. Each discussion they have draws him closer. Palpatine is brilliant in his grasp of political theory, although a hopeless idealist, perhaps worse than even Dooku. Unlike the vast majority of Jedi who seek a safe remove from the minefield of government, Palpatine embraces the inherent moral ambiguity.

He relishes it like a knight of old relished approaching battle, and he seeks to bring order to the Chaos. Dooku imagines that Palpatine doesn't usually share these thoughts of singular and concentrated leadership with his classroom instructors, enamored as they are of the Republic's precious democratic process.

And Dooku enjoys the debates they carry through the halls, enjoys the way Palpatine readjusts his stances subtly over time, adapting Dooku's knowledge to his own. One bright day, Dooku asks if Palpatine would like to spar with sabers in the training rooms, and the boy accepts with enthusiasm.

Curious, Dooku holds little back, wielding his Makashi with purposeful intent. Palpatine does not complain, and he is quickly defeated, knocked flat on the floor with perhaps more force than strictly necessary, but Dooku wants to gauge his reaction. The eyes flash with resolve, the small, battered body struggling back to its feet. Palpatine bows and asks for a second chance.

Dooku gives it and drives him to the floor again, but already Palpatine shows signs of picking up on Dooku's own style. Sloppy, rough, but innovative. He has already given up the style he had been using.

A quick learner.

In that moment, Dooku realizes that he is ready, once again, to take on a Padawan learner. He will have none other than this boy.

Several of the Jedi masters express concerns about the match. In fact, Palpatine might better serve in the Jedi Service Corps, someplace where he can contribute peacefully. Palpatine is too unpredictable to be taken on as a Padawan yet, they tell Dooku. He has not learned the proper Jedi control, and his meditations leave much to be desired. He is too closed off, too untrusting of his fellow learners in the Katarn Clan. Dooku only thinks, he's learned his lessons early.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Let's face it, Dooku was doomed the moment he spotted him. Good luck, Dooku, he's going to need it! Enjoy reading and leave a review if you would like!**


	5. Trials

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 5

69 BBY

No other master is willing to take on Palpatine as an apprentice, and the Dooku lets the boy wallow in uncertainty until he is thirteen years of age and the Initiate Trials begin. The other masters attempt to dissuade him one more time, but Dooku is convinced that he has been granted an exceptional gift from the Force. Using all of his finesse, Dooku manages to manipulate his way onto the judging board for Palpatine's Initiate trials. He knows the boy faces an uphill battle with the other masters.

Too unsettled.

Too inwardly focused.

It makes Dooku even more determined, and he thinks that Palpatine must be feeling the same effect, because the Youngling moves through his physical and mental trials with undeniable ease. Droids and military strategy and ambushes and starship designs are nothing to him, but he struggles in the meditation and water-ripple tests, barely passing.

More than once, Dooku catches his gaze from above and offers the barest of encouraging nods. _Complete these tests,_ Dooku thinks, _and you'll no longer have to deal with those who do not understand._ For the first time, he senses a fragment of Palpatine's conscious presence in the Force, a cold and curious passing thing, like a shadow sidling up to him and investigating before slipping away. Dooku is fascinated, remaining perfectly still in the Force as if afraid of frightening the wild creature.

The boy will require a cautious training.

The Jedi Apprentice Tournament arrives shortly after the Initiate Trials, and Palpatine is chosen to spar with several of the finest of his class. He manages to corral each of his foes except for a large Wookie youngling, who puts him on his back once before he changes tactics and the Wookie bows out, limping slightly.

Dooku is truly impressed with the boy's lightsaber skills. Some of the masters grumble that he won't settle down and choose a form to improve, but Dooku wonders if he might not master them all someday. He doesn't bother to voice his thoughts to the others, because they simply don't see the raw talent slipping through their hands. The ease of living in this solid Republic has mellowed them; risks no longer appeal to their dulled senses. By proxy, the Republic's abhorrent laziness has seeped into the Temple itself.

But he is different. Like a moth to a flame, he wants to get closer. And so, when the tournament draws to a close and Palpatine is preparing to return to his clan, expressionless at the seeming lack of a master once again in this last, fateful chance, Dooku approaches from the shadows of the alcove.

"I can't imagine you're terribly excited about returning to your clan," he begins conversationally, walking beside the tired youngling.

Palpatine glances at him from the corner of his eyes. "It's not really a matter of what I want, is it?"

"Isn't it?" Dooku rejoins almost cheerfully, for him anyway.

The fledgling teen hesitates, then sighs. "We're not supposed to want things. I must be content with my place."

"You know your lessons well, Sheev," Dooku tells him, then places a hand on the wiry shoulder. "But you don't know your place very well if you think it lies with the Service Corps."

And for a brief moment, undisguised hope enters those pale blue eyes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **And so the partnership begins. Palpatine avoids a life of mediocrity in the Service Corps, and Dooku gets a chance to make his mark on the galaxy. Look out, here comes Padawan Palpatine!**


	6. Arrogant

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 6

68 BBY

When Dooku chuckles at his protégé's passion for politics and says that he is too young yet to understand the nature of the universe, much less the inner hearts of politicians and lawyers, Palpatine's eyes darken and he informs Dooku that on Naboo, even the kings and queens can be as young as he is now, and lack of age has never stopped _them_.

"After all, does age truly equal wisdom, Master?" he asks.

Dooku reminds him sternly, "Such arrogance, to compare yourself with them. You are supposed to release your past into the Force, Padawan."

Palpatine does not look away, a faint smile growing on his narrow features. "Not arrogance. Under your tutelage, Master, I've already learned that what we don't know can often hurt us. I make it my business to know things."

"You have much to learn, young one," Dooku murmurs, but he does not attempt to stop the boy's research, not even when he discovers that Palpatine has identified his family's location on Naboo. Dooku does not press him for information, but does some investigating of his own. Instinctively, he doesn't like what he finds, especially about the father. The man is a thug in noble clothing and by all accounts strangely pleased to be rid of his eldest son. Oddly, his padawan does nothing with the information he collects, filing it away into some shadowy part of his mind and then seemingly forgetting. He does not speak to Dooku about it.

Even with the boy's protests to the contrary, Dooku inherently understands that arrogance is a part of him and always will be. In the brief time that Dooku has taken him on in service, Palpatine has come to possess a surprising level of social confidence. In the presence of the Masters and most of his peers, Palpatine disappears under a veneer of calm humility, always ready with a listening and non-judgmental ear. This begins to earn him many friends that he holds at arm's length, taking in much and letting little escape. His secretive nature masquerades as a much lauded and confidential loyalty.

Dooku knows better, that Palpatine judges everything he sees. His set of scales resides within him, his moral code developing apart from and alongside that of the Jedi creeds. Dooku reins him in when his ideas begin to verge on heresy, but in a difficult way he enjoys these glimpses into a world that feels more alive than anything the Jedi Order has instated. Unlike most of his order, Palpatine is changeable and fluid, adapting with impressive flexibility to uncertain situations. His quiet charm, when he bothers to turn it on, becomes quite infamous in the Temple, raising more than a few eyebrows among the elders.

Dooku almost envies the way his padawan can insinuate himself into a gathering and turn all eyes to himself within a matter of minutes. Dooku was always too stiff, too serious as a padawan, and after Lorian Nod, well... Others respect him now as they should, and perhaps they even fear him a little, but their eyes do not welcome him as they welcome his young student. Dooku is determined not to let the attention go to Palpatine's head. With stern guidance, Dooku is confident that he will bring this paragon to his destiny, never realizing that his own arrogance rivals that of the boy's.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Oh, Dooku, you've got a tiger by the tail. Hang on! Apologies for any typos. Leave a review if you would like, and let me know what you think.**


	7. Ambitious

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 7

67 BBY

Qui-Gon had never been much of a reader, always preferring the bright landscape of nature and the confusing turmoil of living things. Dooku muses as he walks down the hallway that this is only one of scores of differences between his late padawan and his current charge. He is not certain how he feels about that, that he sometimes wishes Qui-Gon would have studied harder. It feels strangely like betrayal, but Qui-Gon betrayed him first… if he had only followed Dooku's warning… Forever gone.

"You do love your books," Dooku sighs when he discovers his wayward padawan tucked into a secluded corner of the Temple Library, a stack of ancient and traditional tomes gathered in a fortress formation around him. "Were you born with a datapad in your hands?"

Palpatine glances up, a sly smile glancing off his white teeth. "As Senator Frea-t'ell often says, Master, 'knowledge is power.' I thought we should be prepared for eventualities."

Dooku slides into the chair beside him, running a long hand through his thick hair and short beard and sighing. "Senator Frea-t'eel should practice what he preaches, but power is not our ultimate goal here, my Padawan. We are to act as ambassadors, to mediate – _not_ control – the proceedings of this conference."

Palpatine gazes steadily at him, fingers stilling on the thin paper. "Of course, Master. Still, such unique cultures interacting for the first time in centuries…I think it might be a bit…delicate?"

He injects a note of wondering, but Dooku knows better when the youth's smile grows conspiratorial. His own lips remain perfectly straight, but his eyes catch the contagious gleam from the other. "It might at that. Even as facilitators, being forewarned is being forearmed, my Padawan, and we have a duty to ensure that each side is fairly represented."

Palpatine inclines his head, sought confirmation bestowed.

Dooku lingers for a moment in the chair. _He knows it's all semantics. He knows all too well._

The chair scrapes back. "We leave in four hours, Padawan. Make sure you bring what you need."

"I'll be there, Master."

The first day of the mission is a complete success, thanks in no small part to his padawan's academic preparations, which Dooku has determined to test. Dooku watches with reserved pride as the inhabitants of the long council hall bow their thin necks to listen to Palpatine mediate between the opposing factions. _He is a natural at this,_ Dooku realizes as the teenager paces solemnly, his mere fifteen years lending him a freshness that captivates his audience. Some are openly amused, but Dooku sees them slowly falling under the spell. However, those with the most to lose in currency and power continue to resist every point.

Before anything is solved, they break the session early in the afternoon as is tradition on that planet, and Palpatine impatiently paces after his master, sometimes passing him and then slowing down to draw alongside. Dooku remains stately and measured, aware of the multitude of eyes on their backs as they stride along a wide expanse of red stone balustrade. Someday his padawan will learn patience, or at least the appearance of it.

"Don't they understand, Master, that the Burondi Alliance is only a thinly veiled mockup of the Trade Federation?" Palpatine asks at last, breaking the long silence.

Dooku slows to a stop and turns to face the boy, watches him scuff his brown boot against the cobblestones. He lowers his voice to hide their conversation from the distant crowds. "Ignorance is easier than knowledge, Sheev. If they don't know the truth, they cannot be culpable for the repercussions. That's what they believe, and that's why they continue to stuff their pockets with fat profits."

Palpatine scowls. "They exploit their own people for petty rewards, Master. If they were to reopen the negotiations, then at least they could demand worthwhile investments."

Dooku grimaces. "Their world is not their primary concern, my Padawan. Like any other government, corruption eats at the heart of this planet like a malignant disease. We'll patch the exterior wounds, return to Coruscant, and be lauded as peacekeepers."

Palpatine tilts his head. "And when it all falls apart, the Republic can say it did its best. I know, Master." He turns and begins to walk away. "Maybe it won't always be – ahhh…"

Dooku feels the Force suddenly darken and convulse as his Padawan stutters and collapses bonelessly to the hard surface. "Palpatine!" he cries and lunges forward, kneeling behind the stiff figure and gathering it into his arms. Palpatine is rigid, seized in the grip of some terrible power, his eyes rolled so far back in his head that Dooku cannot see his pupils. The master feels a surge of genuine alarm.

Dooku presses his hand to the burning forehead and reaches out with the Force, and the kickback that flows through his arms nearly causes him to drop the boy, but he pushes back with the Light, and the Dark recedes before his merciless pressure. Palpatine's breathing slows, regulates, and his padawan's eyes flicker closed as he sinks into unconsciousness.

Carrying him back to the Jedi starship, Dooku passes him into the care of the Republic medical droid until he awakens once more nearly a standard hour later. Dooku sits beside his padawan cautiously, aware that Palpatine is angry and confused. "Are you well?" he asks, knowing that he is awkward at this sort of thing.

So is Palpatine. He looks at the floor and mumbles, "I'll be fine, Master."

"That has never happened before," Dooku is undeterred, and he injects a note of warning in his low voice. "What did you experience?"

Palpatine still will not meet his eyes. "I think I had a vision."

"I felt the Dark Side."

Finally their eyes meet. "I don't know, Master."

Dooku is not satisfied. "Well, what did you hear? What did you see?"

Palpatine looks away and sighs. "I heard only whispers. I saw only shadows."

And his reply is so bleak, so empty, that Dooku decides to give him time. They can explore this incident further upon their return to the Temple, and they _will_. But there is a wildness here, right now, that Dooku senses would be wiser to leave alone. He makes a note to look deeper into Palpatine's early records, to learn more of these visions.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Something big went down in 67 BBY, something that will have repercussions for everyone in this tale. Leave a review, if you would like!**


	8. Insidious

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 8

66 BBY

The evening is a quiet one, and Dooku finds himself meditating in their sparse quarters beside his lanky padawan, who is copying his perfect lotus form. Conversely, Palpatine's presence in the Force remains unsettled and unfocused, bounding from one plane to the next. His padawan has never transitioned easily into meditation, and Dooku believes that his mind is far too active, too frantic to slow down and abandon conscious thought. The boy thinks too much, where perhaps Qui-Gon never thought enough. With every passing month, Dooku becomes more comfortable with the differences between the two, settling into a cautious acceptance of his new padawan's nature. Every day, Qui-Gon becomes a more distant, and yet still painful – _Qui-Gon, don't! –_ memory. No… Palpatine must be his legacy now.

Three years now the two of them have worked together, traversing the galaxy in mission after mission (it gets Dooku away from the madness of Coruscant, although Palpatine revels in the planet-city's turbulent atmosphere). Three years now, and Dooku wonders if he will ever fully understand the boy he has taken under his wing. His padawan is intelligent and well-mannered, but he buries a large part of himself under the calm surface seen by all the other Jedi. Palpatine's mental shields are some of the strongest Dooku has experienced. The boy is growing now into a young man, awkward and long-limbed in the ruthless clutches of puberty, and Dooku suspects he will never be physically imposing. Will the master always tower over the padawan?

All appearances aside, the two of them are alike, far more than Dooku realized at the beginning. Sometimes this works to their advantage. In the heat of a tense mission, knowing each other's minds leads to instant decisions, to perfect collaboration. Palpatine's skills with his lightsaber improve constantly. His style fluctuates mainly between Juyo and Ataru. Sometimes, the blend grows so seamless that Dooku imagines the padawan is creating his own unique mastery. He spends relatively little time training compared to the other padawans, but his skill is twice theirs, and Dooku feels confident taking some of the credit for his masterful instruction.

Many times, Dooku has wondered at the strange simplicity of his padawan's lightsaber. The handle is smooth and nearly unadorned, with the faintest of curves along the handgrip and a simple rectangular pattern set into the hilt near the ignition. The finish is a dull alloy, the blade itself a pale green. Dooku once asked him about it in their first year together; Palpatine only shrugged and told him the weapon was good enough for his purposes, created when he was an undirected Initiate. The knight remembers the tilt of the head like yesterday: "It gets the job done, Master." Dooku thinks of his own elegantly curved blade and comes to the conclusion, _something doesn't add up here._ But what, he has no idea.

Palpatine shifts uncomfortably beside him, and Dooku slides one eye open in a gentle glare, fighting back a faintly sarcastic edge, purposefully ignoring the fact that his own mind has been wandering. "Harmony, Peace, and Serenity, Padawan. Surely, whatever you are pondering does not supersede these things?"

It has become something of a ritual, the solemn rebuke and the effort to conform, the padawan's presence muting in a desperate mimicry of true meditation. Tonight is different. Palpatine does not even try to reform his efforts, merely stares back at the older Jedi. His voice breaks slightly as he asks, "As a matter of academic curiosity, Master, have you ever heard of a Force-sensitive giving itself over to the Temple for training?"

Dooku arches his left brow. "You mean consciously reaching out through the Force to contact the Jedi Order? Without training?"

Palpatine looks away. "As opposed to purposefully concealing itself, I suppose…"

"Read this in one of your books?" Dooku rumbles, not displeased but drawn in by the unique question. His own mind begins to ponder, leaving behind his meditative state willingly. "The Jedi find the Force-sensitives, not the other way around. I believe an untrained Force-sensitive would be unable to cloak itself from trained Jedi in close proximity."

"But Force users exist who did not become Jedi," Palpatine says softly.

Dooku sighs. "In the more uncivilized sectors of the galaxy, where the Jedi and the Republic do not maintain a strong presence, yes. Among the less enlightened cultures that seek to enslave their own to dying traditions… If midi-chlorian counters are not used at birth, an occasional Force-sensitive slips through the cracks, though not due to its own machinations. Rather, the absence of order."

His padawan's eyes fix on him before closing abruptly and shutting away the startling suddenness of an emotion that Dooku cannot identify. Without a word, Palpatine renews his efforts to sink into his meditation.

The Jedi Knight stands slowly, disconcerted by the turn of conversation, feeling almost as though he has been dismissed from his own quarters. Ridiculous, of course. As he steps from the room to gather refreshment, thoughts of his own meditation abandoned, he catches a rare unprotected thought across the bond (something he could not have done even a year earlier) - _…they would have walked right past…_

Three nights later, Dooku can no longer restrain his need to know, and he makes his way down to the communications chamber and contacts the Naboo Early Education program in Theed. The assistant expresses polite confusion at his request but grants it anyway. No one in their right mind refuses a Jedi, least of all one of his recognized caliber.

Dooku views the recording in privacy, realizing that he does not know what to expect, and the realization is unsettling. He watches the images of two tall Jedi knights walking by the row of tiny awed younglings, smiling and ruffling the hair of the more friendly ones who reach out to them. One does not reach but stands stiffly in the second row, red-haired head tilting to the side, slivered pale eyes tracking the Jedi as they move past with gentle smiles, never once looking at the small face.

Dooku feels his heart skip a beat when he sees the eyebrows furrow in concentration, a thin small hand rising in silent salute, the two Jedi suddenly pausing their polite and disinterested farewells in the doorframe to glance back in surprise.

The air in the communications center is cold, and Dooku shivers.

Academic curiosity, indeed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Every now and then in Darth Plagueis, young Palpatine seems to give faint indications of self-reflection, of self-awareness of his unique nature. It's a fascinating idea to play with. Of course, every now and then I get an Omen-esque vibe from the poor kid too.**

 **Thanks to guest reviewer Bywater Dragon. Rest assured that Dooku grilled him pretty good on those visions after they returned, although it will be a while yet before the significance is revealed to them.**


	9. Without Shame

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 9

65 BBY

"Master Dooku! Master Dooku!" The shout down the hall turns his head through the sheer alarm that he senses in it. Dooku spots a tall and muscular Arkanian youth almost running down the Temple hall, his milky white eyes blown wide with alarm. His heart sinks. Padawan Cheso Market, apprentice to the Weequay master Jax Tarem, and an all-around ingratiating, self-righteous boy.

Also one of Palpatine's worst enemies, which explains his own padawan trailing behind the Arkanian, eyes snapping with ice-blue irritation.

Reluctantly, Dooku stops in his tracks and turns to fully face the approaching padawans. Both are red-faced and breathing heavily, almost as if they have been sparring. Then he notices the torn sleeve on Cheso's right arm, and the long red welt over Palpatine's cheek and nose. Cheso grasps something in his hands, and Dooku catches the gleam of shiny metal.

"Compose yourself, Sheev," he tells Palpatine, who wears a hunted, angry expression, thin lips compressed to almost nothing. "Both of you, this is unacceptable behavior for students as old as you are."

Palpatine's expression does not change, but Cheso instantly becomes contrite. "My deepest apologies, Master Dooku, but something has come to my attention about Padawan Palpatine."

"I'm accustomed to dealing with my own padawan in my own way, _Padawan_ Cheso," Dooku says, emphasizing the boy's unimpressive title. "Any concerns are my business."

Cheso either chooses to ignore him or is truly thick, because he beams like Dooku has awarded him a medal. "Then you will glad to hear this, Master." He lifts his hand, revealing a small hilt of a lightsaber. Dooku blinks, not understanding.

Cheso jerks his leonine head in Palpatine's direction. He towers over Dooku's padawan, but at this moment in time, Dooku only feels sorry for the Arkanian. Palpatine's eyes blaze with resentment and cold fury, and also a strange and alien apprehension. He won't fully look at Dooku, which surprises the Jedi Knight.

"I was working on repairs for Master Tarem's starship, out in Bay 13, when I discovered Padawan Palpatine in one of the back rooms. He was working on this," Cheso announces triumphantly and drops the handle into Dooku's outstretched hand. The hilt is small, tailored to slender, long-fingered hands. The craftsmanship is flawless and elegant, Dooku can see immediately. _What…_ Is that the golden gleam of aurodium at the blade-base? And phrik alloy? The handgrip is curved to perfection, and the lightsaber reminds him not so much of a deadly weapon as it does an exquisite work of art.

Dooku looks up sharply at his padawan. Palpatine swallows and glances away. "I can explain, Master. If Padawan Market could mind his own business…"

Dooku frowns. In the Force across their bond, he can sense that Palpatine desperately does not want the blade ignited here in the hallway. He offers a curt nod. "I think that would be wise. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Padawan Cheso."

Cheso's face falls. "You don't understand, Master Dooku. If you would just - "

"That will be all, Padawan," Dooku repeats and turns away without waiting for a reply. Summarily dismissed, Cheso glares at Palpatine, then grins and strides away, his work done. Palpatine trails after his master and follows him into their quarters, where he hovers by the door as if he would like nothing more than to flee.

Dooku makes his way to the couch and sits, the small handle in his left hand. He jerks his chin toward the opposite chair. "Sit."

The teenager does very slowly, every muscle tense and eyes trained on the floor.

"Is this yours?"

He looks up. "Yes."

Dooku ignites the blade, and the crimson glow fills the small, dimly lit room. The Force inhales with him as he takes in the bright laser, the deep thrum of the energy. For a moment, Dooku can only stare at it, and then his eyes land on his padawan. "It is well for you that you did not lie, at least," he rumbles.

"Master - "

" _What_ is the meaning of this?"

The thunder in his voice would put the weather regulators to shame. Palpatine appears to wilt under the onslaught, but his eyes are openly confused. "I – I needed another blade, Master. I've begun studying Jar'Kai…"

"I care nothing about a second lightsaber," Dooku growls. He stands from the couch and advances on his padawan. "I want to know the meaning of _this."_ And he shakes the blade a half meter from Palpatine's face.

Palpatine's jaw works for a moment before he can reply. "I put a request into the supply depot, Master, but I was denied. Master Choniik said I wasn't ready for a second lightsaber, but I know I am."

"So what? You decide to make one on your own?" Dooku shakes his head. "With a red blade and exorbitant materials like these? What _possessed_ you, Padawan?"

"I couldn't get a real crystal, Master. I had to locate a synthetic one." His face hardens. "And I didn't steal the parts, if that's what you're implying. Senator –"

Dooku shuts off the blade and tosses the handle at his padawan. Palpatine catches it with feline reflexes, and Dooku watches the way his fingers lovingly curl around the hilt. "You've brought the Senate into this?"

Palpatine dares to smile. "He owed me a large favor…"

Force preserve them all! Dooku raises his eyes to the ceiling as though the answer might be found there. No such luck… When his gaze descends, Palpatine has lost the smile and stares solemnly up at him. "Padawan Cheso is an idiot, but you are more so for letting him catch you with something like this," Dooku sighs. "This will be all over the Temple by the end of the day's rotation. The Council will call you to an account. You will most likely be censured."

Palpatine shows no surprise or contrition. "There is a precedent for this, Master. I made sure to do my homework before starting the project, and I was planning to introduce it to the Council soon. If the Council –"

Dooku cuts him off. "Don't presume to second-guess the Council. The Council will do what the Council does, and you will be fortunate to escape with your hide intact. I will hear no more."

True to form, Cheso's tongue wags across the Temple, and Palpatine's hearing is set three days hence. In the meantime, Dooku struggles to come to terms with his padawan's brazen actions. He confiscates the lightsaber and takes it to the Council, where the strongest Force users pour over it, searching for any hint of darkness in the blade's construction.

Even Nee Lista, a Nautolan master renowned for her skill in psychometry, hands the blade back to Dooku with a perplexed shrug and furrowed brow, her purple eyes liquid pools of confusion. "I feel no darkness, Knight Dooku, but neither do I feel anything else about your padawan. Most strange." _Tell me about it,_ Dooku thinks, indulging in a rare moment of self-sarcasm.

They ultimately find nothing, but the color of the laser and his padawan's deception remain issues for most of the members. Dooku is more exasperated than worried, and eventually he lets Palpatine know that he is forgiven through the thawing of his icy glare and the surreptitious return of the blade. "Don't wield it until the matter is settled," he grumbles.

On the day of the hearing, Palpatine walks the council through a convoluted history of lightsaber crystals and construction, until their eyes begin to glaze with the sheer boredom of it. Only Yoda appears to fully listen, his ears bobbing along with each new point Palpatine makes. Dooku grins at his padawan's blatant attempt to sidetrack. Each question a Jedi master offers, he deflects with masterful humility. Yoda keeps his own council for the majority of the hearing.

When the questions begin to die away, and the masters' frustrations can be felt in the Force, Yoda steps in. "The color of passion, of blood, red is. The Jedi do not engage in our passions, Padawan. Seek peace and harmony in the Force, we do. We are not slaves to our emotions, as others in the galaxy are. Serve the Force instead, we do."

"And as Jedi, we control our passions in much the same way we control our lightsaber blades, Master Yoda. The color of a lightsaber blade means nothing, ultimately," Palpatine meets the Jedi Master's gaze head-on. "In fact, in my studies of the Archives, three other Jedi have been recorded to carry red or violet crystals in the last two hundred years alone."

"Agree with you I do, that color matters not," Yoda intones. "But intent, everything _that_ is. Seek to understand why you have chosen this blade, we do."

Palpatine stares at the diminutive master. "Do you ask other padawans why they choose a green blade? Or a blue? Why the crystals call to them?"

Dooku winces and wants to bury his head in his hands from where he stands in the shadows of the Council room. _Now is not the time to be stubborn, Sheev. The Council is not always open to logical thinking._

Yoda's ears flatten along the tips, and his large green eyes narrow. "Ask them, we do not, because green and blue blades are not often associated with the forces of darkness, Padawan Palpatine."

Palpatine refuses to look away, and Dooku can tell the entire Council is taken aback by his boldness. He keeps his voice neutrally polite and respectful as he addresses the Jedi Master. "You were alive when those Jedi lived, Master Yoda. Can you tell me that they turned to the Dark Side due to the color of their blades?"

Yoda's lips tighten in what may be a faint smile. "Turned to the Dark Side, they did not, Padawan. A fact you know already."

For the first time, Palpatine colors slightly in his cheeks. His dips his head submissively. "I was seeking only to make my point, Master."

"And perhaps you have."

The Council collectively perks up its ears at that, several of the masters glancing incredulously between the young human and Yoda. "He's shameless," Dooku hears one of them whisper to another. The green master sits perched on his seat, inscrutable and unknown. He looks just as he did when Dooku studied with him and pushed his own boundaries. For some reason, that makes the Jedi Knight very, very nervous.

Palpatine begins to take a deep breath, thinking that his ordeal is over and he has once again survived the odds. Yoda clears his throat, and the room freezes. "However, know you may not, that took a personal interest in those Jedi padawans, I did. Do the same with you, I think I shall."

Dooku feels his eyes bugging out of his head, and he strokes furiously at his trim beard to keep from saying anything. Palpatine glances wildly to him, expression open and pleading, and Dooku shrugs. _You've gotten yourself into this one, Padawan. Don't look to me to pull you out._ He realizes after a moment, he is amused. Deeply amused. Perhaps now Palpatine will be more careful in whom he tries to manipulate.

This will be a lesson well-learned.

 _I will never doubt you again, my old friend,_ he thinks at Yoda, and imagines that the Jedi Master's conspiratorial smile is meant for him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Dooku, you're worse than an indulgent grandparent! This kid needs boundaries! So, evidently in the EU, a few rare Jedi were known to wield red lightsabers, Adi Gallia being among them for a time. I thought it seemed appropriate for a rule-bender like Palpatine. He squeaks by on so many technicalities, but Yoda might be on to him. Thanks for reading.**


	10. Heartless

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 10

64 BBY

The chase through the planet's seedy underworld is exhilarating. Dooku can feel his padawan beside him in the darkness, their hearts beating with one purpose: the hunt. Somewhere ahead of them, the local chapter smuggling ring has scattered into a dozen pieces, each self-important drug lord disappearing into the dark crevices of the city's streets.

Their personal guards are another matter entirely, being promised large amounts of credits for their loyalty (and for any Jedi heads taken). Dooku and Palpatine wade through wave after wave of sweating, growling enforcers with bodies the size of small mountains. He watches his apprentice dance through a line of three thugs, his green and red sabers reflecting the blaster fire with ease. "Sheev, to your left!" Dooku shouts and throws his lightsaber in a sharp arc. Palpatine ducks under it, and it takes off the long snout of a ponderous Whiphid. The alien shrieks in pain and thrusts its pike down blindly, by pure luck catching the edge of Palpatine's cloak and pinning it to the street.

Palpatine is jerked off balance, and Dooku's heart stops for a moment when a second hulking smuggler sweeps his padawan's feet out from under him and brings his vibro-ax crashing down. Impossibly fast, Palpatine wriggles out from under his assailant, slicing through his own thick cloak with his lightsaber and jerking the blade up through the Yinchorri's muscular shoulder. The reptile screams and drops the weapon, its bulk clattering uselessly to the ground.

Dooku can breathe again.

He can see that Palpatine is grinning broadly even now, somehow encouraged by his near death. It has always been that way with this apprentice, and after nearly six months of meditation and confinement to the Temple for his efforts to build the red lightsaber, Dooku's apprentice sometimes feels wilder than ever before across their bond. Dooku fells another large Whiphid with a judicious Force push, sending the alien into the crumbling exterior of an abandoned warehouse that collapses around its body. Then he catches up with his padawan, and they are off and running again.

"Are you certain the leader went this way, Master?" Palpatine calls, long red braid flying out behind him, eyes alight with his excitement. "I could have sworn there were more bodyguards with him than that."

Dooku grimaces and ducks under a low, weathered sign. "If you wish to go search out a bigger challenge for yourself, then be my guest, Padawan. I'm quite content with what we have."

The younger Jedi laughs, and Dooku wonders at the simple, pure bloodlust behind it, almost as if Palpatine is an apex predator, most comfortable when he is pursuing, when he is cornering his target. Dooku has sensed the same emotion in dozens of other Jedi in the heat of battle, but in his padawan, it burns very bright indeed. _For all our glorified passiveness, the blades bring out something more in each of us. One simply cannot be a pacifist with a weapon in hand._ He snorts, causing Palpatine to glance curiously at him as they run. _Unless one is Master Yoda._

This thought makes him wonder how Palpatine's sessions with the old master are faring this year. His padawan is usually very tight-lipped about the whole affair. Each week that the pair is on Coruscant, Yoda takes him aside into the meditation chambers for nearly four hours, and Dooku has to admit that he is extremely curious. Sometimes Palpatine returns looking as though he will bite the head off the nearest unlucky padawan, and other times he is smiling tightly, as if amused by some cosmic joke. In a strange twist, the sessions seem to bring Palpatine closer to Dooku, make him more open in their personal conversations. He seems to genuinely regret not informing Dooku of his attempts to make the new lightsaber. It takes time, but the bond between them strengthens. Enough to twist Dooku's heart whenever the padawan throws himself into danger with wild abandon.

Reckless and calculating… Dooku wonders how one small padawan can embody such paradoxical qualities. He does not have time to ponder long, because Palpatine has suddenly ducked out of sight down a small alleyway. The Jedi master sighs, unsurprised. He will surface again; they have played this routine many, many times. Dooku focuses on his own pursuit.

Three more streets and seven thugs later, and he comes across a familiar sight: Palpatine crouched over a terrified crimelord, both lightsabers burning the air in a cross at the Rodian's throat. Around the pair, three bodies lie heaped, one's clothing still smoking from the lightsaber burns. "I hope you're leaving enough to be questioned," Dooku says drily.

"Oh, they're alive," Palpatine glances back at his master. "So far."

The Rodian squeaks as the blades slip closer to his green neck. "Let me go," he cries. "I've done nothing wrong!"

"Claims of innocence when you work for the Black Sun?" Dooku scoffs as he approaches the two. "We've already spoken with your contact, Rodian. Your guilt is clear in the eyes of the Republic."

Palpatine raises his eyebrows. He knows Dooku is bluffing, that no such contact was ever made. Other Jedi might raise their eyebrows in disapproval at the lie; he is only impressed at Dooku's audacity. And then he makes the decision to join in. "Comply with us, and we might be able to ease your sentencing with the local authorities." He does not try to exert his Force powers on the Rodian's mind; the last time he tried that and left his prey a gibbering fool for hours, Dooku had turned him over to Master Yoda for a lecture on the misuse of power. The lecture took nearly half a day and three additional sessions until Yoda was satisfied.

The Rodian scowls through his fear. "I'm not convinced. I have many friends with the local authorities, and I demand to talk with my representative before I say anything else to you, Jedi scum."

Palpatine tips the red lightsaber closer to shine down on the sweating face of the smuggler. "You know," he starts, conversationally, "We're not really in the mood for your games tonight," and then his face brightens with deceptive happiness, "but my games are another matter entirely." Or is the happiness entirely too real?

The Rodian fixates on the padawan's wide smile, and his fear increases tenfold. "Games?" he squeaks, his natural pheromones exuding a truly hideous stench.

Dooku glances sternly down at Palpatine. "We are not going to torture him."

Palpatine ignores him and leans closer. "Not if he starts telling the truth."

The Rodian whimpers at the dark promise in the young human's eyes, and he firmly believes that Dooku either won't or can't hold the other back. "I'll talk, I'll talk, just-just don't!"

When the local police arrive along with the other two Jedi and take the willing suspect into custody, Dooku grabs his padawan's collar and forcefully steers him further out into the darkness of the street, leaving the other Jedi and padawan to tidy things up. Palpatine goes agreeably enough, still grinning.

"We are Jedi, Sheev," Dooku says firmly. "And we've gone over this before. We don't resort to torture and intimidation."

Palpatine lifts his head defiantly and meets Dooku's glare. "It wouldn't have gone that far, I could tell, and he deserved it anyway."

"That is not for us to decide," the master retorts, shoving aside the small voice that says _he's right_. "We are not his judge or jury."

Palpatine's voice drops as low as Dooku has ever heard it. "But you have to admit, it worked."

Dooku stares down at his padawan. "You walk along the edge of night, Padawan."

But there is no condemnation in his voice when he says it.

Just an empty warning.

Just a strange pride that threatens to undo his balance. He will need to meditate long tonight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Palpatine is developing into quite the little pragmatic negotiator, and making Dooku second-guess himself. I enjoyed the part in Darth Plagueis when he notices that Anakin reminds him of himself when he was younger. Very different backgrounds, but some unique similarities all the same.**


	11. Without Empathy

.

Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 11

63 BBY

Their next mission brings them to a planet besieged with sink holes, some more than kilometers wide, and growing in number every day. Dooku has been here before, with Qui-Gon many years ago, and since then the planet's core has begun to destabilize from deep-surface mining and plasma removal. The death toll from the abrupt collapses has grown into the thousands. Dooku and Palpatine meet with the planet's monarch and ruling council, all of whom wring their hands in desperation and plead for Republic assistance in stabilizing the core.

The planet is beyond Republican jurisdiction, Dooku informs them, feeling their helpless frustration. He shares in it. Nothing should be beyond the power of the Republic, otherwise what is the point of prolonging such an inefficient system? He assures them that he will alert the Republic. Relief will be coming soon from other planets for the refugees and afflicted.

A surface solution for a broken system: what the Republic does best.

Palpatine strides along beside him now through the capital city, watching the broken tiles of the streets and the half-collapsed wrecks of once-residential homes. Only scavengers and the desperately poor now lurk in once-rich sections of the capital.

"Master," he ventures to say at last. "How did they let it come to this?"

"What do you mean, Padawan?"

The young man, nineteen and filling out more with lean muscle and grace every year, neatly sidesteps a small alien beggar. "Their planet wouldn't be in danger if they had managed their resources effectively."

Dooku barks a harsh laugh. "Hindsight is clearer than foresight, Padawan, in every case except perhaps your own."

Ignoring the gentle barb about his visions, Palpatine stops and folds his arms across his narrow chest, a faint scowl passing over his brow. "They brought it upon themselves, Master."

"We are not judging these people, Sheev," Dooku stops as well in the center of the street. No traffic exists to pose a hazard to them. "What's done is done. Allow yourself to feel compassion for the innocents who must endure while the wealthy have long since fled the surface."

"They could have stopped it," Palpatine insists. Something about this mission has snared him, fired something deep in him. "They are far more numerous than the ruling elite, but they allowed themselves to be fooled and led like a herd of shaak."

Dooku raises both eyebrows. "You are feeling generous today, Padawan."

Palpatine should recognize it for the soft warning it is, but he fails to do so, caught up in his thoughts. "I have difficulty feeling sorry for them, Master."

"You have difficulty feeling sorry for anyone." The words slip from Dooku's mouth before he can stop them, and they stare at each other for a long moment. "My Padawan, that was not meant the way it sounded." It is as close to an apology as Dooku will ever come.

Palpatine's eyes narrow, and he sighs. "You are right, Master. I was wrong."

Sometimes the way he gives in so quickly is suspicious, but Dooku can find no fault in his apprentice when he gently brushes the bond between them. Palpatine is as contrite as he ever is. And today, Dooku senses an unusual desire to please.

They continue to walk in silence, until a deep shout sounds from the depths of a partially collapsed apartment complex, and a massive alien bursts from the shadows. "Master Dooku of the Jedi! Too long! Too long!"

Dooku stares, feeling his padawan tighten behind him and reach for his saber. "Stand down," he tells Palpatine when he recognizes the long equine face.

"Fot'rut, it has been some time indeed," he greets the approaching hulk. Fot'rut was the host for Dooku and Qui-Gon when they visited many years past, and the alien has changed little in that time but to grow a little fatter. "How are you faring?"

"Not so good, yes?" Fot'rut rumbles a laugh. "Look around! Look around! How you think I'm faring?"

"Why haven't you left?" Dooku asks, genuinely confused. Fot'rut is wealthy and intelligent, for one of his species. Why does he choose to linger in such deadly places?

"Passed my wife into the next world, abandoned me my children," Fot'rut shrugs. "Home this! I am old, so coffin this."

Ah, he has nothing left to live for. Dooku feels a twinge of pity for the old alien, but the choice is clearly made, and he chooses not to combat it. "I am sorry to see your planet in this state, Fot'rut. It wasn't so the last time I was here."

"Neither was that!" Fot'rut jerks his long nose up at Palpatine, who is standing slightly behind Dooku, curiously eying the relic from Dooku's past. "Where's the boy?"

"This is Sheev Palpatine, my padawan learner," Dooku waves him forward, and Palpatine bows with perfect manners, his expression entirely blank now.

"Not your one," Fot'rut tilts his shaggy head. "One you glowed to see."

 _Not right now,_ Dooku winces. _Not in front of him._ But the alien's words bring Qui-Gon's bright blue eyes to his mind, his winning smile and strong hands. The yearning to see him again, just one more time, and maybe even apologize, surges with a strength not felt in years. It surprises him, because he thought he had come to terms with the boy's death.

The wound tears cleanly open again, the scab rubbed raw.

Palpatine stands rigidly, his own pale eyes fixed on his master, a question in the way he stands and waits for instructions. In this moment, he does not reach for their bond, perhaps afraid of what he will find.

Dooku does not blame him. Palpatine is ice, and Qui-Gon was fire. They should be incomparable. Should be.

Fot'rut seems to intuit that he has caused trouble. Stepping back, he shrugs and bows to Palpatine. "This new one, he is something too! Don't go losing him, yes?"

Dooku scrambles for damage control, but he knows Sheev is a delicate creature, easily offended and hard to entice once wary. "I have no plans for any such thing, Fot'rut. Please excuse us, we must return to our mission at hand. Come, Padawan."

Palpatine hesitates, gazing after the retreating back of the alien before he turns and falls back into step with his master.

The silence is worse than before, but Dooku cringes inwardly when Palpatine breaks it, a curiously hard note in his silky tones. "What was he like, Master? Qui-Gon Jinn?"

"I hardly think this is the best time to talk about it!" Dooku snaps, inexplicably nervous and agitated, and he swipes a cold hand through his beard in an attempt to settle himself.

"I heard some of the other padawans say he was a very good fighter and philosopher." Palpatine pauses, his voice softening. "I think I would have liked to have met him."

Dooku slams to a stop in the middle of the street and turns sharply. "Qui-Gon always knew when to ask questions and when to stay silent. Take a page from his book, Padawan."

Palpatine stares. No reaction but the tiniest flicker in the Force, the bond shivering. "As you wish, Master."

True to his word, he makes no other sound the entire way through the city.

Dooku knows he should not have snapped. It was not a Jedi thing to do, but this place brings back far too many memories, of tragic loss that he cannot push it all away. Why did the Council pick him for this mission?

When they reach the Collapsing Zone, the scene is chaotic. Wounded and dead lie scattered here and there between dozens of medics and soldiers screaming for attention. Palpatine launches into action, disappearing into one of the apartment complexes on the edge of a gaping sink hole. Ignoring the thump of his heart, Dooku moves away toward the desperate cries of trapped civilians. He passes himself and his padawan into the arms of the Force and moves with single-minded purpose.

For nearly an hour they work, rescuing hundreds from the surrounding buildings and gathered rubble. Palpatine seems to avoid Dooku, going where the master does not, throwing himself into the most dangerous locations and reappearing with frightened, living victims. He is working far overhead, in an apartment complex that is dissolving, piece by piece under its own weight, when Dooku hears a terrified cry close by.

"Please don't let my father die!" the little girl screams, her long face contorting in horror as the apartment complex begins to snap apart at newly forming seams. Dooku scoops her up and holds her back, for she will run straight into her death, he can feel it.

Seven floors above them, Palpatine hesitates on the edge, the floor cracking under his boots. His pale eyes, almost glowing, meet Dooku's. _Get out of there!_ The master sends across the bond.

A faint smile.

Is it the girl or Dooku who cries out when the slight figure vanishes from sight?

Is it both?

Is it neither?

With the Force roaring in his ears, Dooku cannot tell. _A Jedi shall not know fear_ , he repeats, over and over, sending his calm into the trembling girl as a large portion of the building sheers away and drops into the widening chasm.

"Papa…" she whimpers.

 _Sheev._ Will this planet forever hold the ghostly bones of his apprentices? Is he destined to forever watch helplessly as his charges plunge out of sight and life? _I've grown too attached again. Will I never learn?_

A rousing cheer from the watchers around them catches his attention, and he sees a figure struggling up the broken incline of the collapsing floor, seven stories overhead, a limp body on his shoulders. The building shrieks with indignant fury and bucks up before falling. Palpatine thrusts the man away from him with desperate strength and the Force, the body landing on the solid surface now over three meters distant. His eyes fixed on his padawan, Dooku's throat goes dry when Palpatine tries to make the leap himself and fails. A wooden beam, jerked from its supports, swings out and catches him in the left shoulder, pinwheeling him back into the collapsing debris.

The crowd screams.

A cable slithers out and sinks into the solid part of the apartment complex, and when the rubble slides away, Palpatine is there, dangling on the end of the wire, bloody and exhausted, barely conscious. And alive.

When Dooku pulls him gently down and studies the arm and shoulder – at least three broken locations – he almost chides his padawan. Instead, he bites his lip and asks, "Why?"

"It had to be done," Palpatine shrugs, wincing when the temporary splint is pulled tight.

In this at least, Dooku realizes with chilling foreboding, he is a perfect Jedi. When Dooku was bemoaning his fate, his padawan did what needed to be done.

He mulls guiltily over the afternoon's events long into the evening, after Palpatine receives his bacta cast, even after they have retired to the expensive skylift, a gift of gratitude from the king.

Dooku finds Palpatine in the refresher unit, awkwardly pulling out over a dozen small splinters from his left hand. The cast makes it difficult for him. Dooku watches his apprentice work in silence, his face never changing even as the hand grows bloody with his efforts. Finally, he steps in, easing the tool out of the white-knuckled hand and taking the bloody one in his own. "Padawan, why don't you simply use the Force?"

"It seems flippant for such small matters." Palpatine does not look up at him. "I am tired."

It is an unusual admission. Dooku clears his throat. "Your well-being is not a small matter to me, Sheev."

Palpatine looks up.

"You… You did well today. Your quick decisions and actions saved the lives of hundreds."

There is a tiny flash of something – Appreciation? Happiness? – and Palpatine starts to say something before he stops and looks down again. "I am honored, Master."

"I wonder, though," Dooku swallows, does not really know how to approach this. He is the master, and he is supposed to clarify, to guide. Palpatine's actions must be properly motivated.

So he bites the proverbial blaster bolt and asks, "Did you save the girl's father out of compassion or out of a desire to please me?" Dooku takes the young man's chin in hand and turns his face up. Palpatine's eyes gleam with faint irritation.

And something else.

Confusion?

Fascinated in spite of his own anger and guilt over the memory of Qui-Gon, Dooku presses him, "Did you feel her pain when you agreed to help her? Did you understand what it meant to her? Was it compassion that moved you? Or was there another reason?"

Palpatine licks his lips nervously. "Master, I don't understand…"

He looks deep into the bond, convinced now that Palpatine is hiding something. The padawan flinches under his harsh perusal. "You were trying to impress me," Dooku realizes and fights the anger in his chest. He releases the padawan and turns away. "You were trying to compete against a dead boy, someone you fear I will always hold dear, dearer than you."

Behind him, Palpatine has gone completely tense and silent.

Dooku knows he must be freed of this notion, and he knows no other way to do it than hard and fast. He will not drag this out. "You are a fine apprentice, Sheev. Perhaps the finest there is to be found. But there is no place in a Jedi's life for attachments of the sort you are seeking. I have moved past Qui-Gon Jinn. You must as well. Our bond is already forged. You must learn to be content."

No answer for the longest moment, and he doesn't dare to turn around until he is convinced his shields are steady. He turns to find the small room empty.

As empty as himself.

Dooku buries his face in his hands with a deep sigh.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

" **Young narglatches make cute pets, but invariably cause problems once they begin to grow." – The Wildlife of Star Wars: A Field Guide**

 **Dooku and Palpatine: Why do you do this to each other? Stubborn rascals that they are. Seriously, Dooku, get over your old apprentice for the sake of your new one. No one likes competing against a rosy memory.**

 **Leave a review, I'd love to know what you think!**


	12. Murderer

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 12

62 BBY

Something about massive numbers of screaming, laughing tourists always set Dooku's teeth on edge. The Jedi Knight sits in the central square of Doaba Guerfel, Corellia's finest mountain resort, and studies the endless flow of life around him. The Fourth Galactic Games have brought hundreds of thousands of spectators to descend on this rugged area for many days of fierce athletic competition and many nights of unparalleled revelry.

He feels the bridge of his nose wrinkle in disdain. Those without the Force must entertain themselves somehow, he supposes. Still, these shows of bravado he can do without. The Jedi have no need of proving their prowess; their lightsabers and their strength speak louder than anything else.

Speaking of strength, here comes his padawan, winding a long route around the outer edge of the square. Dooku watches Palpatine strolling through the thick crowd, long arms swinging with easy grace at his sides, a friendly smile on the narrow face. To any other onlooker, the young man appears to be as enraptured with the proceedings as anyone else, but Dooku can see the sharp glint in the pale eyes. Palpatine is lively and honed in the Force, senses stretching into the corners and market stalls of the public place.

 _He is growing up, with or without my permission,_ Dooku realizes with a start, and he remembers that it has been ten years since he first found him sparring in the Temple. Ten years of pride and fear and tentative bonds, ten years of feeling accomplished and inadequate at the same time. Dooku sighs. Is this what all masters feel when nearing the end? In this last year alone, Palpatine's strength has dramatically increased in the Force. By all rights, he should be taking his Trials soon.

But Master Yoda came to Dooku a few months ago and, as delicately as his old friend could, had suggested that Palpatine wait a while yet. Dooku had fumed at first: why? Palpatine was twice as skilled as the other padawans his age. Some had already taken their own trials, and he did not tell Yoda how Sheev inwardly chafed at the teasing of those new Knights. Yoda looked at him gently: _In doubt, his power is not._

Of course, Master Yoda remained his usual irritatingly enigmatic self and did not expound on the reasoning, and Dooku deferred to his wishes reluctantly. It was clear the old master was worried by his apprentice.

Dooku worries too, but he suspects his reasons are different. Palpatine has moved beyond his brief obsession with the late Qui-Gon Jinn and focused his efforts entirely on his training. The bond between Master and Apprentice has stabilized now: professional and cautiously friendly. Just more evidence in Dooku's eyes that his padawan is ready. He mostly worries that he cannot continue teaching his padawan at the same rate Palpatine is learning. Thankfully, Palpatine is beginning to spend more time in the Senate Building as he prepares himself for the role of a Jedi Consular.

Dooku was not surprised by his padawan's choice. Palpatine has always been a negotiator, transforming from a socially awkward boy into a young man who can now walk the halls with the finest senators and show no discomfort at all in their presence. He is popular with the politicians, with his wide smile and willingness to listen to their pompous declarations. Dooku snorts, an inelegant sound. He would never have the patience for such madness, even though he too is interested in the field, as corrupted as it is.

He limits his interactions with the senators and diplomats to a trusted few, where he knows his advice will receive its just attention and respectful consideration. Palpatine, on the other hand, flits from circle to circle, making connections everywhere he goes and leaving befuddled, delighted admirers in his wake. Dooku laughs, startling the small avian perched on the bench at his side: he has raised a politician.

Of all things…

"Something amusing, Master?" Palpatine slides onto the bench from the side, half-smiling, half-curious, and Dooku flushes to have been caught off guard so easily.

He turns to face his padawan, still so much shorter than himself. He will always be taller, but Palpatine does not need height to make his presence felt. "I was thinking of your friends in the Senate."

Palpatine's grin fades somewhat. "They haven't said anything too condemning, I hope?"

Dooku spears him with a look. "Should I be concerned?"

His padawan shrugs and looks out over the square. "Not at all."

Which means yes. Dooku huffs a low sigh; he will have to sort it out when they return to Coruscant. No use worrying about Sheev's latest escapades now, so he refocuses his attention on their surroundings. "Have you felt anything out of order?"

Palpatine tilts his head. "I feel low levels of hostility and fear, Master, the same as I did when we first arrived. But the emotions are so widespread, I'm having difficulty pinpointing a source."

It amazes Dooku, in the face of the fierce joy of these Galactic Games, how easily his padawan can sense the darker emotions in the beings around them. Even among Jedi, Palpatine is extremely sensitive to the Dark Side of the Force, which Dooku knows has most of the Council deeply concerned. But at the same time, the skill proves incredibly useful, as Palpatine can often judge a suspect's affiliations and intentions with a glance.

"I did learn one interesting thing," Palpatine states, offhanded and gazing into the crowd.

Dooku waits.

"This resort evidently consumes more Corellian ale than all of the neighboring cities combined," he says with a slight smirk.

Dooku stares, disappointed. "And that is going to help us achieve our mission?"  
"You never know," Palpatine says. "Drunks can tell marvelous stories, Master. Stories that could lead us where we need to be."

"Well, then, let's hope tonight yields more promising results than the day," Dooku nods.

That evening, Dooku and his apprentice cycle through the many bars and open taps spread throughout the resort town, seeking information. Rumors of a human-centric terrorist cell have brought them to the Games, of threats made against multiple of the attending planets' athletes. Dooku leaves his padawan talking to a promisingly drunken Twi'lek in one bar and glides silently across the night to the next.

In this one, he locates a human with a baleful glare and an oppressively large chip on his shoulder. Dooku's sharp eyes spot the telltale tattoo peeking out under the left sleeve, one of the many marks with ties to the organization they are hunting. He holds his lightsaber in reserve and lets loose his words instead, chatting the human into complacency, sympathetically clicking his tongue when the man bemoans the sorry state of nonhuman affairs.

The man thinks he has found a friend, and Dooku does not disabuse him of the notion. Instead, he feigns an equal level of drunkenness and eagerness to _make things right_ , and the man pulls him closer to the bar's counter. "You wanna actually do something about it?" he whispers, the alcohol fetid on his breath.

Dooku suppresses a shudder of disgust. "What did you have in mind?" he asks, raising both eyebrows in conspiracy and stroking his beard.

The man chuckles hoarsely. "Follow me, friend."

Dooku opens himself to the Force, and the result is encouraging. This man is indeed up to no good, and if Dooku can infiltrate their cell before they can act… He imagines the gratitude of the Game sponsors, the approval of the Council. He rises and follows the man out the back entrance of the bar into several consecutive, dimly lit alleyways. As he walks, he reaches out for Sheev and cannot feel his presence; he must still be far back in the other bar. The Twi'lek was very vocal, after all.

As they walk, the man tells him about all the wonderful opportunities that these Games are going to create for humans soon, what with all the positions that are bound to be "opening up." Dooku smirks inwardly; what a fool, and a talkative one as well. He has discovered an excellent source of information tonight.

The man stops at the entrance to a dark alley and gestures forward. "You sure you want in on this, friend?"

And Dooku opens his mouth to reply as the man starts to walk forward, and then the Force cries out, and so many things are happening at once that even his Jedi senses are momentarily overwhelmed. The knowing gleam in the man's eyes as he glances back at Dooku, the whine of a powerful engine fast approaching, the gleam turning to sheer horror before being snuffed out in a thump of bones and blood on the pavement.

Before Dooku can even register the human's gruesome death, a pale hand is reaching out and tugging him into the speeder with surprising strength, his padawan staring at him with wild intensity. "We have to get out of here, Master," he snaps and throws the speeder into motion.

"That was my lead," Dooku protests, craning his neck to see the man and the alley quickly disappearing, before the entire scene is engulfed in a massive explosion that shakes the nearby buildings and nearly throws the speeder into the walls. Palpatine grips the steering console tightly, white-knuckled, and guides the machine to a full stop only once they are several blocks away.

They both breathe heavily in the silence.

Dooku runs a shaky hand through his dark hair until he can find his voice, cracking with comprehension. "Dare I even ask what just happened? There was no deceit in that man."

"He was a bigger fool than you thought, Master," Palpatine finally lets go of the steering and sits back. "He would have died right alongside you, killed by his so-called friends, just to get a Jedi Knight." His words are pinched tight with anger and something harder to identify. Dooku does not even try.

"So you killed him instead," Dooku shakes his head.

"He was taking you into a trap, Master," Palpatine says quietly. "I had to act quickly."

"You didn't need to kill him," Dooku snaps, feeling the headache behind his eyes blossom into a full-fledged fire. He is embarrassed too, that his apprentice was more in tune to the situation than he was. "He was unarmed and relatively harmless."

"His friends weren't, up ahead," Palpatine jerks his chin in the direction of the distant dark alleyway, pouring smoke and flame and screaming with city alarms. There is a tenseness in his shoulders, a tightly concealed fear. "They could have killed you, they would have, I… I saw it."

Dooku looks sharply at him. "In a vision?"

Palpatine blinks, then nods. "I couldn't let it happen, Master."

Dooku wraps his cloak tightly around his shoulders and tries to think, but he is more shaken than he would ever like to admit. _I could have died. His visions nearly always come true. I would have died._ He _tries_ to think. "All the same, we've lost our lead."

Palpatine shrugs, careless and deliberate all at once. "We'll find another one before long."

Dooku sits a long moment in silence until Palpatine turns to him again, a strangely pleading, confused light in his pale eyes. "You are upset with me."

A long pause.

"Someone ought to be," Dooku says at last. "No death is frivolous, Sheev, no matter the level of criminal it may be. You are a Jedi. You will be a Jedi Knight someday. You can't always take the easy way out." He cannot quite hold the next words back even though part of him wishes he can. "And that, back there, what you did. It was too easy for you. You could have saved him."

Palpatine's eyes cloud over, and he lowers his gaze submissively. "I regret it, Master."

 _Because I called you out on it, not because you killed him_ , Dooku thinks and cannot help the shiver from running down his spine. There is a difference between regret and remorse, and Dooku sometimes fears that his apprentice does not understand, will never understand. Part of him feels guilty that he has failed to impart such an important lesson so fundamentally critical to human nature. Part of him wonders if he even could.

Now perhaps, he can see why Yoda wishes to wait.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Yes, Dooku, you've missed a few things that might turn out to be rather important in the long run.**

 **Tune in next time for incredibly awkward reunions. Fun fun… :)**

 **Apologies for any typos found within. Leave a review and let me know what you think, if you could.**


	13. Bloodlust

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Narglatch in Shaak's Clothing Chapter 13

61 BBY

"I don't think I should go, Master," Palpatine announces quietly when Dooku returns from the final mission briefing.

Dooku glances at his padawan, who is pacing back and forth across the sparsely decorated room. His agitation in the Force is clear to see and feel, almost tangible in its intensity. Palpatine's soft voice belies the turbulence boiling under the surface. The young man is more tense than he has ever been before a mission, and Dooku knows why. Naboo. He steps past his disgruntled learner and seats himself on the edge of the low bed.

"Jedi do not claim planets as our homes, Sheev, you know that. Naboo is just one of millions of planets to you. Your past has nothing to do with your present. The Temple is your home."

"I've figured that much out, Master," Palpatine says, his cutting sarcasm rising to the front. A defense mechanism, Dooku has learned, whenever events are not to his liking, to his control. The Jedi master sighs and ignores it.

"You know it, but I'm not convinced you believe it, Sheev." His next words he must choose with caution, because he understands his padawan only too well in this. Three years are not a long time, but in the wrong hands three years are a lifetime. "The planet where you were born, the people who bore you, none of that was your true destiny. You will be a Jedi Knight soon. You must let it go."

Palpatine stops his pacing and gazes steadily at his master. Dooku looks in the watery blue eyes and sees himself at that age, a bitter and proud twenty-year-old padawan standing in the gardens, declaring to Master Yoda with the all the wisdom of a naïve youngling: _Every Jedi is a child his parents decided they could live without._ His first lesson in betrayal, but certainly not his last. And with the way Palpatine looks at him now, Dooku imagines that he is reading his mind, seeing the hypocrisy in his master and judging him without mercy.

Finally, Palpatine offers a slight bow of his head. "Of course, Master, you are correct. I have let my personal feelings stand in the way of our mission. It won't happen again."

The journey to Naboo is completely uneventful. The upcoming election is the cause of the Jedi's presence; several threats of terror have been promised to the Governor of Theed's reelection campaign, and the Jedi have graciously agreed to investigate the rumors per the request of concerned members in the Senate, those who seek to court the up-and-coming Chommell Sector. Dooku and Palpatine are greeted by members of the king's personal staff, evidence of the favor the Governor shares with the planet's royalty.

The Governor, Ars Veruna, meets with them in the opulent Palace gardens which buzz with a wide variety of small avians and colorful insects. The Jedi and the Naboo dignitaries debrief the situation with the high members of the Naboo Royal Guard, and a decision is made. Dooku and his padawan will attend Veruna's next rally incognito, where they will attempt to comb the emotions of the crowd for clear dissidence. Any suspicious activity will be reported to the Royal Guard to be handled in a manner appropriate to Naboo sovereignty. Veruna stresses: the Jedi need not get personally involved.

Palpatine sighs beside Dooku, and the Jedi master knows his padawan dislikes playing the middleman once again. Let him plan in the background, and Palpatine is happy (or as happy as he gets). Let him fight, and Palpatine is content. But require him to follow the orders of another, and he chafes like a half-wild gualama chafes under the reins of its rider.

Veruna billets them in his personal suites, and Dooku suspects the man is glad of the Jedi's presence. He will not assume the Naboo is a coward, but he has legitimate reason to be concerned. This planet reeks with fear and something much, much darker. Something Dooku cannot identify, but his padawan feels it strongly. Palpatine's presence in the Force is muted, withdrawn, apprehensive.

The planet's darkness does not match its idyllic environment. The day of the rally dawns bright and beautiful, and Dooku forces his curiosity away to focus on the matter at hand. "Stay near the back," he instructs Palpatine, "and watch the entry points. Prevention is our best chance in this madness," and he indicates the pressing crowds. The Force swoops and tumbles with the jumble of countless beings' emotions. He doesn't like it.

Palpatine nods and pads silently away, drawing the Force over him like a shroud, a shadow. In a heartbeat, he becomes no different from the other Naboo who strain and stretch to catch of a glimpse of the politicians on the stage. It is a unique skill that few Jedi can master. Dooku watches him for a moment, noting how natural Palpatine looks in the traditional garb of a Naboo, how - and the Force flashes a vision across his eyes, fleeting and confusing, something that _might_ _have_ _been_ – and he shakes his head. Useless sentiment.

The rally finishes strong, with cheering crowds and no threats in sight. As the people begin to disperse into the joining streets of Theed, on their way to the different shops and businesses, Palpatine rejoins his master. His shoulders are hunched against some invisible wind. Dooku can sense his discomfort radiating through the Force, and he reaches out an awkward hand. "Sheev – " he starts to say, and is cut off by a sharp bark of astonishment from behind.

"By the gods, is it actually you?"

Palpatine stares straight ahead, the Force becoming a still and deadly pool of intent, calming with a suddenness that is almost frightening. Dooku turns and finds himself face to face with a solid man of patrician bearing, someone that he imagines Palpatine will closely resemble in many, many years. In a moment, he knows. The Father.

Dooku bites back the automatic sneer. "May we help you, citizen?" he asks, taking Palpatine's shoulder under his hand and sending a clear message to the other man. Sheev does not answer to his father any longer, but he gets a clear message of his own; Palpatine's shoulder is unnaturally cold to the touch, and Dooku realizes that bringing him here was indeed a mistake.

The well-dressed noble does not bother to hide his disdain, ignoring Dooku's query. He has eyes only for the shorter, younger version of himself. "You've grown a bit," he smirks and turns to the older Jedi while still watching his son. "I'm surprised you people are still putting up with him. When I gave him to the Order, I expected he'd be drummed out in a matter of months."

Palpatine flinches, and hard, hot rage seeps through his shields into Dooku's hand, unlike anything the master has felt before. He tightens his grip and drops his voice into a lower register. "My padawan is my own business, sir. I would appreciate a civil discourse, or none at all." _And I prefer the latter._

The older man's eyes slide to him, but Cosinga Palpatine seems unwilling to accommodate his harsh request. A cruel smile creeps onto his thin lips. "What can you possibly see in him, Master Jedi?"

"More than I am seeing right now," Dooku says, feeling a smile of his own, cold enough to chill the warm spring air. Cosinga recoils, pulling himself straighter like some wounded bird of prey. His eyes narrow with rage that is mirrored in the eyes of his firstborn son. Palpatine's hand strays toward his belt and the hidden blades, and Dooku shoves it down.

Cosinga laughs, recovering smoothly from Dooku's insult and seeking to divert the conversation. "Yes, still trying to keep him on a tight leash, I see. Well, good luck with that. I thought to do the same once, but I learned my lesson. You can't teach a wild animal."

Dooku dislikes this man, his supreme arrogance, his smug superiority when in reality no such thing exists. They are Jedi, head and shoulders above his blind and petty nobility on this inconsequential Mid-Rim planet. Truthfully, Cosinga isn't worth his time, and he scowls with all the power of his training. "Then you won't mind if we go on our way."

"It would be a welcome riddance, actually, just like the first time you people took him away," Cosinga says. He folds his hands into his long, elaborate sleeves and looks down his long nose at his offspring. "Not only him, but you as well, Master Jedi. The presence of the Jedi are not needed here on Naboo. We can manage our own affairs."

"Clearly not," Palpatine mutters, finding his voice at last. It trembles with dark emotion, not quite hate but close enough that Dooku senses danger. The young man holds himself like a warrior ready for battle, but Dooku can't imagine him tackling the older man here in a public courtyard. Or maybe he doesn't want to imagine it.

Cosinga's keen ears catch the sharp words, and he tilts his head down, the motion so reminiscent of his padawan that Dooku is disturbed. "Even after all your vaunted Jedi training, you'd like to hurt me right now," the nobleman drawls. "If he would only give you permission, you'd leap at the chance."

Palpatine's shoulders stiffen, and he takes several threatening steps forward. Dooku feels the Force darkening, shifting, and he thrusts out his arm and catches Palpatine by the shoulder. "Padawan! Enough!" For a moment, Palpatine does not seem to hear him, no longer in his sway – _if he ever was –_ and Dooku is forced to bring his presence to bear on the fragile bond between them, tightening his fingers on the thin shoulder. Palpatine wrenches his hand away but stops at last, eyes fixed on his father.

"I don't need his permission," the young man grates out. "I don't need anyone's permission. Go on with your petty, insignificant life, then. It matters little to me or anyone else, old man. Your time is done."

Dooku keeps a sharp eye on his charge, but Palpatine appears to have himself in hand at last, his lanky frame straightening and his eyes losing the cold fire. He stills breathes heavily, and his hands tremble.

"We're all done here," Dooku adds. "You know there were threats made against the sitting governor's campaign, Cosinga Palpatine. As a vocal member of his opposition, I would be concerned where I might be seen, if I were you."

The Naboo clenches his fists and steps back. "I don't care for your implied threats. Tapalo and Veruna and their greedy Muun compatriots might have the voorpak wool pulled over the eyes of the commoners, but their days are numbered. Even with the support of the Order and the vapid Republic, we will prevail over them."

Dooku knows an empty bluff when he hears one. He raises both eyebrows and offers a nod. "We shall see. Padawan, please return to Governor Veruna and apprise him of our observations." His order is carefully tailored to give Palpatine a way out without conceding to his red-faced father. The younger Jedi backs away and disappears into the shifting crowds. When Dooku turns back to face Cosinga, he is surprised to find the man much, much closer, his thick cologne wafting over Dooku's nose.

"I'll be honest with you. I don't care for the Jedi Order, one way or another, but I do know a thing or two about that… that _boy_. He's unnatural, and you'll come to no good end for it," Cosinga growls. "Mark my words, Jedi."

The man is a fool, Dooku decides, and he resolves to forget him and his bitter warning entirely.

OOOOOOOOOO

 **The quote of young Dooku comes from Yoda: Dark Rendevous.**

 **Family reunions are always so very awkward, aren't they? Some more than others. Poor Dooku for once, caught in the middle of something that he can't hope to control.**

 **Well, what did ya'll think of this one? Palpatine's getting closer to his trials, and he's going to make a new friend soon, someone Dooku really isn't too sure about.**


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